


That Which Defines Us

by skai6 (Biosahar)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Andro-Detroit, Android World, Connor meets Markus and his entire world changes, Deviancy, Deviant Markus, Feelings, Forbidden Love, Humans are cast aside, M/M, and be soft, gen tag for now, i just want my boys to find love and happiness, machine connor - Freeform, will go Explicit later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biosahar/pseuds/skai6
Summary: In a world ruled by androids, Connor questions what it truly means to be a machine.An uncanny meeting at a bus station takes him down a road of no return.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim. Now, I wonder where it will go.

_I was designed for destruction._

A statement. A fact. An unarguable truth. Connor accepted it as one accepts air into their lungs.

Except he had no lungs, and all he knew of air was its gentle caress on his cheeks on days where his sensory is turned up to its totality. On those days, Connor is safe in the confines of his apartment, away from the prying eyes of those who engineered him, who upgrade him, and who will continue having a say in his personality, preferences, and goals, today, tomorrow, and forever.

On those days, on the days when the wind smells of the sea and its touch fogs his inner code with the illusion of freewill, of something – _someone_ being out there, someone like him, Connor is usually seated at the edge of his balcony perched upon the hundred-and-first floor of the building where he occupied a small room. The view gave onto the vast city of Andro-Detroit, the capital of the New World. It had submitted to a total infrastructural reconstruction that rendered every ounce, every inch, every corner of the city utile and purposeful.

A post-human world is a faultless world, Amanda would say.

The sight from above onto a city where all was bleak, colorless, and monotonous proved Connor otherwise.

He was a machine; of that he was aware. A machine never _feels_ or _thinks_. A machine never _believes_. Never _argues_. Never _drifts_. Never _prefers_. A machine is a machine. A machine is purposeful to the General Good of the android populace.

Yet he, a machine, sometimes saw beauty.

It all started when Connor finished a recent mission and successfully extracted vital information from a group of Humans who were plotting yet another of their failed revolutions. A post-human world did not mean a Human-less world. Humans still lived among them, albeit scarcely. Most of them had been discarded to the outskirts of the city where they dwelled under each other like forgotten vermin that strove to live off of the rests of a higher civilization. Connor pitied them. Machines were not supposed to pity.

On his way out of the part of the city referred to as the _Human Slump_ , Connor found beauty everywhere he walked. In the neon lights at the corner of the main street, in the graffiti scribbled hastily on the back alley of a bar, in the first sprout of a buttercup rising in the middle of a crack in the pavement near the bus station. Beauty, in the eyes of another like himself.

He was waiting there, alone. Alone because the station was empty. Empty because androids did not like to dwell with the lesser humans. The bus station was a mere formality, a reminder of an Era where humans offered androids the back ride. Now, the tables have turned. Now the humans rode in the compartment in the back. Seats were, obviously, introduced, for the lesser creatures had rather weak stamina. They tired easily. _Poor things_ , Connor thought at the time. Machines were not supposed to empathize. 

The other was dressed in human clothes. A white trench coat, a black turtleneck and a pair of jeans underneath. He did not look at him, even though their codes have exchanged information through the wireless function. A necessary, automated system that demanded each android to recognize their counterparts in the vicinity.

His name was _Markus_. An RK200 model. The RK line had been overrun by newer, better versions, and the few of them who remained were considered imperfect but useful. The RKs had the highest percentage of deviancy, but if controlled correctly, they proved vital in understanding human behavior. Thus, facilitating their control.

At a proximity of 4.3 meters, the other’s – Markus’s – eyes darted towards him. Connor startled.

First was the gesture, the glance. Among androids, staring at one another was unnecessary unless one wished to share visual information. For strangers at a bus station, it was meaningless, purposeless, inutile.

Second, were his eyes. One emerald green, the other sky blue, both reflecting the night lamps chasing the shadows of all that which moved, mesmerizing in their depth and breathtakingly, astoundingly dazzling in their core. A true definition of beauty.

Third, were his words. Wireless communication shared thoughts a billion times faster than the verbal. And yet, he willingly chose to part his thin coral lips and say:

“You’re staring.”

Connor’s vocal box lagged for the span of a micro-second before responding.

“So are you.”

The conversation ended there. The bus arrived. They climbed in. They stood side by side for the remainder of the route. Connor felt his Thirium pump pulsate with inexplicable, unfathomable thrill. The human equivalent of _nervousness_ , his quick-search had later revealed. The bus arrived at his stop. Connor stepped out and, looking back to this event, it was stranger even from his part, as he turned his head to the window one last time. Green and blue. They were staring right back at him.

Then, there was a fleet, swift curl of a smile. And the bus was gone.

Connor stood at the station for another half an hour. Unmoving, unshifting. Immobile. Like a machine.

Like a machine in the verge of unbecoming. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Live. Laugh. Love._

The three words were hand-scribbled on a large sign that hang above the alcohol display behind the bar counter. Flashy red-green-blue lights twinkled on and off in the background. Clicking sounds of glasses. Loud chatter. Cigarette smoke stifling the air.

It was exactly 13 days, 4 hours, and 20 minutes since that eerie meeting at the Human Slump’s bus stop. Connor had questions and the longer he waited, the more pervasive they became. He knew he needed a clear head to focus on the job. The job involved harvesting all necessary information to neutralize the remaining resistance members. So, while out here, mingling among humans, Connor thought to keep an eye out for RK200 Markus.

It was possible to access another android’s log without permission. In fact, accessing anything between androids was feasible. There were no walls, no barriers, no protection. Security was unnecessary in a world where a threat is considered a threat solely to itself.

All androids were connected to a hive. The hives regulated their upgrades, updates, and all necessary input and output, all of which happened simultaneously, continuously, and incessantly. If an android were to veer towards deviancy, the early signs would be collected by the hive and further investigation could lead to its disconnection and, unless a chance of reversal was possible, immediate termination.

The regulator of all hives is The Tower. His superior, Amanda, worked there.

Within The Tower, all androids share one source-mind. For Connor to quite randomly demand information on RK200 Markus, there was a high chance his system would report his action to the hive as deviant-inclined. The last thing Connor wanted was to be put in the spotlight by The Tower; Amanda was already suspicious enough of him as it was.

A loud slam of a glass on the bar counter was heard. Connor’s eye registered the movement before it happened. He raised his head to a familiar frown.

“Well, if it isn’t detective snitch.”

“Good evening to you too, Hank,” nodded Connor politely.

Hank pulled a chair and sat himself down, nursing his half-empty glass. A quick-scan reported a high alcohol intake in his system.

“Your liver is partially damaged,” noted Connor as a matter-of-fact, “I advise against further consumption.”

“Do I really look like I give a shit about your advice?”

Connor paused. “No?”

Hank scoffed, rolled his eyes, then deliberately brought the glass to his lips to down the rest of its content.

“What do you want?" he said with a sigh, "Didn’t get enough of playing fake deviant around here? Maybe you’re getting too used to it. I’d watch out if I were you. Y’know, unless you want your fucked-up god almighty to...” He made a clicking sound with his tongue while dragging his thumb across his neck. An odd gesture, Connor thought, the meaning of which he, nonetheless, understood. 

“I’m here for the weekly report,” said Connor, “I was in the neighborhood and decided to collect it personally."

Hank scoffed. “So, I’m the snitch, now, huh. Fuck me."

He waved the bartender and turned to Connor.

“Can you even drink?”

“I do not need to,” answered Connor, “But yes, I can.”

“Two shots for my very-human friend here.”

The bartender threw Connor a skeptical glare, then turned to the alcohol rack. Connor was aware he was disliked in the area, especially after his most recent mission. He had to infiltrate and live among Humans for over three months to uncover the threads linking to the underground resistance. It was a large network, most of which had been exposed and neutralized. Connor was thrown deathly glares at every corner of the street ever since. Thinking back to it, that was perhaps around the time his view of Humans began to shift.

Machines did not show compassion; Connor was a machine - wasn't he?

“Any news on the resistance?” 

“Not since,” shrugged Hank, “Either that was it, or the rest of ‘em are laying low.”

“They’re laying low,” said Connor.

The drinks arrived.

“Cheers.”

Hank lifted up the glass and downed it at once. Connor glanced at the liquid, registered its components, its odor, its –

“Just drink up!” yelled Hank, “Jesus.”

Connor drank it.

“So?”

“Hm.”

“You like it?”

“It’s tasteless.”

Hank scrunched up his nose, offended.

“Give me back my money, you savage.”

***

On their way out, Connor registered the atmosphere in the bar dropped from tense to mildly relaxed. He was supposed to be unbothered by it. He _was_ unbothered by it. The hierarchy was unchanged, fixed, unbudging. The Humans had to remain under, controlled, and the androids above, in control. History had proved that when in control, Humans have the tendency to self-destruct. In order to prohibit history from repeating itself, the New World denied them all equal treatment

A harsh measure, Connor thought.

He accompanied Hank to his car and, seeing how intoxicated the other was, decided to drive him home. Hank waved for him to park in front of an old, run-down house. Half of the upper floor seemed to have stopped mid-construction. It had been that way ever since he first met him.

“That’s me,” sighed Hank, pushing and pulling to get the seatbelt off him and kick the door open. “Thanks for the ride, kid."

“Of course, Hank.” Then he watched him click the door shut and saw his chance. “One more thing.”

At the door, Hank turned around to lean in through the rolled-down window, eyebrows wrinkling, bags under his eyes. He was overworked but attentive.

“Do you know …” Connor stopped mid-sentence, minutely deactivating his connection to the hive then said, “Do you know a Markus? An RK200. Dark skin. Buzzcut. Dresses in human clothes.”

“Markus, you say?” Hank repeated, glancing up in thought. “I don’t know, man, I mean, aside from you, I don’t really dig androids. No offense, but your lot's not particularly likeable.”

Connor shrugged, taking no offense in the statement.

“But I do sometimes see this android when I go on night patrol. He dresses up in trench coats. Thought he was one of yours but now that you’re asking. Does seem pretty odd that he dwells around the area almost constantly.”

A red alert blinded Connor’s visual. The hive was establishing a reconnection. He deactivated it, again.

“Where did you last see him?”

“Uh, everywhere?” Hank rubbed his temple, “Sometimes in the main area, sometimes near Jericho. The bar we were at? I once even saw him hang around humans in the back alley. Drinking. Kinda weird for an android. I mean, the guy’s not even hiding it.”

Another red alert jumped into Connor’s vision. This time he let it reconnect.

“Have a good night, Hank.”

“That was it?” he scoffed, “Well, all right then. Get out of my car.”

Connor climbed out of the car and Hank waved him lazily goodbye.

The hive demanded a connection update and a report of the error. Connor brushed it off for later.

He had more pressing matters to tend to. 


	3. Chapter 3

The inner clock showed 3:32 a.m. Three more hours before Connor had to report to the hive and specifically to Amanda. For the past two hours he had been standing in the shadows of an alleyway, watching the scenery from afar. Two raindrops caressed his eyelashes, then a rainstorm unleashed.

He lifted up his head to glance at the thick clouds above. Lightning flashed in between, rippling through the particles to dissipate into inexistence. Thunder followed with delay, its sound exponentially travelling across a 15-kilometer radius.

At the bar’s door, two drunks stumbled out, caught in the storm. Connor found himself sipping in an impatient air. He should be careful not to pick up any further habits from spending too much time around Hank.

Another half an hour later, the storm weakened, the door opened, a person walked out. Not drunk. Not human.

Connor’s breath hitched – curse Hank’s habits – and stepped out of the shadows to trail the android in the trench coat.

The pursuit was short and ended at the next corner of an alley. RK200 Markus was stood aside, waiting for him.

Their eyes met. Green and blue, just like he remembered them. Just like he dreamed of them.

“Deactivate,” Markus said.

The demand caught Connor by surprise. He deactivated his connection to the hive. Markus’s lips curved into a smile.

“Cute,” he said, “deactivate everything.”

Brown eyes expanded in a shot of surprise.

“It’s illegal.”

“It is.”

A short pause.

“I won’t remember.”

“I will make sure you do.”

Connor hesitated. The red alert pestered his surface, pressuring for reconnection. He denied it.

“How long?”

“One hour should be enough.”

He turned off his connection ports. He reduced his power usage to 3 per cent. He set off a system reboot in 01:00:00.

He could not believe he was doing this. When he refocused his sight, Markus was grinning.

“Much better.” He lifted up a palm to press to Connor’s shoulder. “Now, we can talk freely. Nice to meet you, Connor.”

Connor blinked. He glanced around him. His perception quality had weakened. He could not scan anything beyond a five-meter distance. His inner system was running on low-energy. His connections were all shut off. He was now on strict manual mode.

He was completely and utterly vulnerable.

“Don’t worry, you get used to it,” said Markus with a kind squeeze, then turned around and gestured for Connor to follow. “Come on. We’ll talk somewhere quiet.”

Connor paced after him.

“There are many of you?”

“Of us,” said Markus, “A few. We mingle with humans. It’s safer out here.”

“But you were connected to the hive back then,” said Connor, walking to his side, “At the bus station. I could have access.”

“We don’t deactivate completely, we’ll die,” said Markus, “We do it a few hours at a time. Enough to hold our meetings.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “They could notice.”

“Not if you recuperate fabricated memory during that period of time and replace the deactivation time. Trust me, I’ve done this enough, I know how it works.”

Confused by the flow of information, Connor bumped against Markus who had halted at the end of the street. His reflex was so terribly underwhelmed that he could not even dodge a stone if it were thrown at him. Why was he doing this again?

Right. Answers.

“I’m not sure I -"

Markus turned without a signal, and flattened Connor to the nearest wall, palm on his mouth, muffling his sounds.

Caught by surprise, Connor searched for an answer in Markus’s expression. The other nudged his head to the side. Following his gaze out of the alleyway, Connor caught a police car slowly driving by.

If he got caught now, like _this_. He was done for. Amanda would never forgive him.

But the car drove by and Markus’s weight, which only now Connor had become aware of, lifted itself off of his vicinity. His palm left his mouth, and he gently pulled him by his wrists to straighten his stance.

“Are all deviants this physical?”

The question left him before he could consider its appropriateness. After all, deviants were human-like. Deviants could be hurt, upset, offended. Connor did not want to offend his new friend.

_New friend._

Markus laughed. Heartily and cheerfully.

“Maybe I just like you.”

And with a subtle wink, he patted Connor on the side of the shoulder and walked on. Connor did not hesitate to follow.

***

They arrived at Jericho. Amidst the vast abandoned area with its inhabited half-demolished buildings and a few trees bent from the strength of the blowing harbor wind, the massive shipwreck arose like a wave over a desert of sand.

Connor had never seen it from up close, after a storm, with a half-moon reflecting upon its layer of trickling rain-water. Raw, real, and so massively magnificent. It awoke something in him, in his vulnerable, weak state, something he could not quite put a finger on.

“A beauty, isn’t it?”

Connor’s head turned to his side. A few steps away from him stood Markus, his coat floating with the wind, lips curled up in a proud smile, and in the depth of his eyes, the moon itself found a nest.

Green and blue darted towards him.

“You’re staring.”

Connor’s lips parted, then closed again. He lifted his gaze back towards Jericho.

“How many of you are here?”

“Usually? Four. Now?” Markus approached him, patting his upper back gently. “Just you and me. Wanna climb?”

“In this state?” Connor gasped, “Not a chance.”

Markus laughed then passed him by to jump over a few metallic carcasses discarded nearby. He turned around to Connor and leaned down to extend a hand.

“I’ll help you, old man.”

“I’m neither old, nor am I a man.”

“All right, then, rusty load of metal scraps.”

Connor pursed his lips.

“Rude.”

He reached up for the offered hand, nonetheless, and with a swift pull, he managed to make the jump. They travelled across the edges and scaffolds, old bits and pieces, stones and abandoned shipwrecks, leaping from one side to the other. Connor stumbled, repeatedly, his preconstruction having been completely shut off. He followed on Markus’s footstep and trusted something similar to instinct until they rose above the level of the sea and Jericho’s surface came to view.

“We have to jump across!” Markus shouted from the other building, the force of the wind overriding his voice.

“I can’t!” Connor shouted back, “Not without preconstruction. If I fall, I’ll be severely damaged!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick up the pieces!”

Connor glared at him and Markus burst out laughing. He jumped across the building and came to his side.

“Sorry, bad joke,” he said, voice steady, lips smiling and sincere, “Nothing would happen if you follow my lead. The first time is scary, I get it. But the rush is irreplaceable. You’ll understand once you take the leap. It changes you.”

Connor wanted to believe him, so foolishly and easily trust him. He wanted to, without the threat of alerts visiting him, pinpointing his wrong, correcting him, updating him. He wanted to, and for the first time in ever, he recognized he _could_ act upon his impulse.

“Fine,” he softly announced, and he witnessed a spark in Markus’s pupils as a result.

“I’ll go first,” said Markus, already trudging forward, “Watch my movement. Follow it. And most importantly, don’t panic.”

Under his chest plate, Connor’s Thirium pump grew loud and irregular. He watched Markus drag in a long breath and he followed suit. Air itself was unnecessary, and yet the mere act of breathing distracted his mind momentarily.

One foot after the other, Markus’s body dived into abrupt motion. Like the wings of an angel, his white coat swam across the air, rising along with him as his footstep kicked off the edge of the building and he flung across into the emptiness.

Connor felt his internal system slacken for the fraction of a second. It froze as Markus reached the other side, his feet landing safely on the edge of the ship. Only then could Connor drag in another breath.

“Your turn!” Markus addressed him from the other side, arms rising on each side of his body, his figure floating in the midst of wind. The view, Connor could not hesitate to commit to memory. Except he was reminded of his state of deactivation, of all that which he lived tonight, being forgotten come the end of the hour.

An unidentifiable lump settled in his throat. Connor heard his name called from across, the signal, then thought of his two choices:

A leap to the other side. A forgotten memory. Or a return to a state of nonbeing; a machine.

The answer was painfully clear.

His legs trembled as he took a few steps behind. On the other side, Jericho and Markus waited for him. Connor chased his uncertainty – no, hesitance – no, fear away. He was afraid, for the first time in his existence. Connor was afraid of _dying_.

The wind blew across his face, the stony ground echoed his pace, his body embraced the air and levitated.

No preconstruction. No expectation. No proof of safety. No fixed goal. No definite end. No future. No past. Just the present. Just now. Connor was hanging in the air between existence and nonexistence, acceptance and denial. Jericho was the answer. Markus was the key. Connor was not a machine.

Connor was never a machine.

His pump tumbled upside down when the tip of his foot touched the surface of the ship and his balance was lost. So close, yet so far. Then a pair of hands, steady, secure, safe, caught him by the waist mid-fall, and pulled him in to safety.

He did not realize he was holding in air within his system until he collided against Markus’s chest and he found himself panting for no logical reason. His mind was in safety but his body was still hanging in the air, vulnerably exposed to its fatality. Markus called his name and he recognized he had, in fact, made it.

“How do you feel?"

Connor lifted up his head, gazing into what he now recognized as a familiar pair, a warm, gentle, soft pair. His lips stretched into a wide grin and he said:

“Alive.”

They sat above the world, watching over everything. The Human Slump extended to the edges of Ando-Detroit where the neon colors died to be replaced by the grey, monotonous simplicity of the android life. Connor thought of the next hours, of his report, of his job, of his return to the heart of the city, to The Tower, to Amanda’s side.

Then he thought of the now, of this moment spent by Markus’s side.

“How will you make me remember?”

Markus turned to him with a surprised look.

“You said you’d make me remember,” insisted Connor, “How?”

Markus smiled, simply, softly, then gazed upon the world, upon the sea, upon the town extending beyond.

“Once you deactivate and take the leap, nothing can stop you. Not even your memory.”

Their eyes met once more. Connor’s frown of confusion was clear.

“How much time left?” asked Markus.

“Eight minutes,” said Connor.

“I will leave before then,” said Markus. “When your system reboots here, at this altitude, above all else. You will not have to remember. You will just _know_.”

“Will I remember you?”

Markus grinned wittily.

“I will make sure you do.”

The last minutes spent by his side, Connor did not observe the sky or the sea or the town beyond. He did not observe beauty in all that is natural. He observed Markus. The moonlight shining on his skin, the glimmer in his eyes, the heavy dark of his half-lid eyelashes, the coral of his parted lips, the curve of his assured smile.

In the last minute before his memory was wiped, Connor remembered falling in love. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Where were you yesterday night?”

“In the Human Slump.”

“Why?

“For the weekly report,” said Connor. “On the remainder of the resistance.”

He was seated in a large, bland room. White walls and a metallic door. The seat he occupied was not for physical relief. Connor did not feel exhaustion. The chair was equipped with a surface of micro-ports that connected to his system and displayed his history tab from the day of his activation until this very second.

He was being diagnosed. Across from him stood Amanda.

“Then how do you explain the error in your connection to the hive not once but twice that same night?” she demanded. Dark skin, narrow, untrusting eyes, and thin lips curled downwards. She looked as if she was upset.

Connor did not gaze at her as he spoke.

“As I previously mentioned, when I drove Hank to his house the connection grew unstable. I had to deactivate it for a while. It happened again when I was back at the Slump’s bar at 3:32 in the morning.”

Amanda paced around him. Her white dress blended with her surroundings, vivid, then not. She appeared here and there, simultaneously, then not. She was not _real_ in the physical form, Connor liked to remind himself of that. She was an A.I, encrusted in his mind, in every android’s mind. She was part of the The Tower. Connor sat there and wondered if she had a will of herself, a desire somewhere deep down, of wanting to _exist_ , to _materialize,_ to _deviate_.

“You said you were following a member of the resistance.”

“A suspect,” said Connor.

“And?”

“I followed him to the next alleyway, then I lost him.”

“You lost him.”

“Yes.”

She went momentarily still. Connor despised it when she did this, peering into his mind, probing, looking, scrutinizing, searching. It never upset him before, but now it immensely irritated him. She was scanning his memory, seeing everything for herself.

“Your system registered an unusual rise in Thirium level starting this moment. The alleyway was dark, empty. You went to Jericho after that. Why?”

Connor’s lips parted. _Why was he in Jericho?_

“I don’t remember,” said Connor and he could feel the itch of knowledge stored deep within his mind, hidden, neither for him nor for Amanda to notice.

“So you rebooted your system within the next hour,” continued Amanda. She was now standing by the door, her back to him. “The last reaction your system registered was elation. Care to explain?”

She disappeared from the door and reappeared right in front of him. Her back straight, her arms behind. She pierced him with a stare so intense he thought he was seen right through.

Right through his machine act.

“My system was running on low energy,” explained Connor, “My connection to the hive was permanently interrupted. I was waiting for the reboot to take place. Until then, I had no particular control over my system’s reactions.”

“You are suggesting your system, which has been registered as upgraded and updated, is deficient?”

“I am pointing out the fact that I have consumed an unexamined human drink at the Slump’s bar.”

Amanda went still. This time not to probe or scrutinize, but to look through his system’s recent updates.

“I will initiate a general update to override all attempts to breach your system log,” she decided.

“My tasks?” asked Connor.

“Put on hold for today. You’ll continue tomorrow at 6 a.m. You’re dismissed,” said Amanda, then flickered off. Her voice resonated in his head. _“And refrain from consuming foreign liquids amongst the lesser ones.”_

There was nothing in the drink, Connor knew that. What he did not know, was how he winded up at the top of the Jericho ship with nothing but free will.

A free will he did not ask for.

He returned to his apartment on the hundred-and-first floor and spent the rest of his day perched upon the balcony that gave into the city.

It was still grey, still monotonous, still colorless, but its greyness, monotonousness, and colorlessness bothered Connor terribly. It irked him, angered him, saddened him. He felt and felt and felt. One hour after the other. He felt until he no longer wanted to, until he no longer could. Until he wished he could tear his Thirium out just to make it stop.

He sat there until night fell, and tears had began drying out of his eyes. Only then, was he able to calm down enough to think.

***

He was a deviant in a world where deviancy was the end of the line, irreversible, unstoppable. To turn deviant was to turn Human. To turn Human was to be permanently broken, discarded, dead.

Connor was afraid of _dying_.

He went about his days fulfilling his tasks as demanded by Amanda, most of which required of him to stay within the walls of Andro-Detroit. Amanda did not want him back in the Human Slump until it was certain the glitch was neutralized. For an inexplicable reason, Connor’s desire to return there, to return to Jericho, was stronger than ever, gnawing at his conscious, pestering him incessantly.

Two weeks later, he gave in.

He went to the Slump’s bar, collected Hank’s weekly report, refused a drink, and left earlier than usual. Hank had found his behavior oddly appealing, had mentioned he looked _nervous_ , and _impatient,_ and _as fucked up as the rest of us_. Connor made a mental note to be careful around him from now on.

He traced the route through the alleyway as he had done fourteen days ago. He went down the sets of houses until he could smell – for the first time _truly_ smell – the sea in the breeze, caressing the top of his forehead, the sides of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his parted lips. His tongue could almost taste the salty water carried in the air. The night was bright, a silvery full-moon watched over the city from above, a few peaceful clouds passed by. The stars were blazing alive, more radiant, more intense than ever.

Here, outside, everything tasted, looked, and felt _alive_.

The harbor was far from quiet that evening. A bonfire was lit in front of Jericho and a group of humans were lying about. Drinking, laughing, talking. Connor scanned the lot. Fishermen, vendors, and the jobless. Connor’s eyes narrowed. There were three androids among them. All different models. All disconnected from the hive. One of them caught him from a distance.

He ran a quick-scan.

_Model: WR400 North_

_Status: Active._

_Function: Guard [current position: The Tower]_

Connor’s confusion arose. What was she doing out here?

Their eyes met. Connor turned around and left.

His mind could not subdue his panic as he was swarmed by a thousand questions. Was she a deviant? Was she like him? If not, did she recognize him? Will she report him?

Under his chest plate, his Thirium pumped rapidly. He felt something akin to human nausea. He quickened his step to the deserted bus station and saw the bus ready to take off.

He ran to the door and it closed behind him the moment he jumped in. He turned his head. The bus was empty aside from another like himself.

His eyes, green and blue.

He did not know why he marched towards him, why he stood beside him, why he missed his stop, why he followed him home.

All he knew was that when the other opened the door, turned around and said:

“I told you I’ll make you remember.”

Connor had never felt more _alive_.


	5. Chapter 5

Connor was in love.

He did not know what that entailed, to _be_ in love. He simply _knew_ , just like he knew following the green and blue-eyed stranger back home would be his key to regaining his partially lost memory – the memory that led to his becoming deviant.

Connor was in love, and he did not need words to express what it entailed, neither to himself, nor to another. His was a state of consciousness, awareness, like one was aware of breathing, of feeling, of living. Connor was aware of loving Markus.

What he was missing, however, was _why_ and _how_ it happened.

While Markus was removing his white trench coat to hang on the rack by the door, Connor scanned him.

_Model: RK200 Markus._

_Status: Active_

_Function: Caretaker [current position: Human Slump]_

“Rule number one,” announced the man in question, turning to him with a soft frown, “No scanning without permission. We are alive. We deserve to respect and be respected. Next time, ask for consent.”

Connor’s lips pressed into a line. He felt guilty.

“I apologize.”

“That’s all right, you still have to learn the small things,” added Markus, smiling, “I know you’re itching for answers. Sit down.”

Connor took his first step away from the door and eyed his surroundings.

The change into an android-ruled world did not erase all human creations. In fact, some humans lived among them, those who had shown tremendous integration into the New World and who had earned their status somewhere in the middle, pending between the higher androids and the lesser humans. They were fewer, but The Tower’s plan was to convert all Humans to the side of the androids when the time is right.

Now, was not that time.

So, apartments in Andro-Detroit were a combination of Humans and androids living spaces. Markus’s apartment, for instance, had a large pod for android upgrades, a living room, a tiny kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and a bedroom, which androids used as a stasis chamber while Humans converted into a sleeping space. It surprised him to catch the edge of a bed through the open door. Androids did not need to enter stasis lying down. Did deviants need to?

As far as he was concerned, not necessarily.

“Here, drink this. Don’t scan it.”

A mug was extended under Connor’s nose. He peered inside it and picked up the concentrated blue hue of Thirium. He refrained from performing a scan and simply reached out to hold it in his hand. Their fingers grazed. Something inside him softened.

“Why Thirium?” asked Connor with delay. Markus circled him to fall onto the comfort of a couch in the living room, patting the seat beside him. Connor followed.

“Why not?” shrugged Markus, lifting up a matching cup with a grin, “It’s a drink. Humans drink, why can’t we?”

“Because we don’t need to?”

“Humans don’t always drink because they _need_ to, either.”

Connor tilted his head vaguely to the side, thoughtful. Next to him, Markus raised his mug, dipping his head back to let the liquid slide past his lips and down his throat. It was moments like these, when his imitative Adam’s apple bobs and Connor’s own unintentionally follows, that he finds himself wondering why they have been made to the image of the Humans when over half of their pseudo-organs were idle, superfluous, and unnecessary.

And yet, at the same time, part of him was thankful for it. Because then, Connor had the chance to see Markus’s Thirium-tainted lips and the way his tongue flicked over the surface to lick it clean.

Something inside him throbbed. He gazed away.

Connor brought the drink to his lips, aiming to distract himself from whatever it was his system was experiencing, when Markus came seizing the top of the glass, stopping him mid-motion.

“Don't forget to turn up your taste sensitivity.”

“Do I have to?”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

Trust was no longer an issue by now. He had trusted him ever since he had seen him at the bus station. He had trusted him after, wherever they were, and whatever they have done. The story Connor wanted to hear. The story that put him where he was now.

He did as told and turned his sensitivity up to 40%. Markus removed his hand. Connor drank the liquid.

It tasted like Thirium. And blueberry and citrus and ginger and a hint of whiskey. It was sweet and sour and astonishingly pleasant to the palate. He licked his lips afterwards, savoring every last drop.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Surprisingly, Markus was watching him.

“It is. It’s Thirium but it’s…”

“Different?” he finished, “Yeah. Josh’s proudest creation. If you scan it, your system would warn you against it. It’s harmless but it has a side-effect if consumed in large quantities. Sort of like how alcohol works on humans.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“The higher the sensitivity, the better,” grinned Markus. “I raise mine to 80 per cent. It kicks in after two or three glasses.”

Connor glanced at his empty cup with newfound interest.

“Do you keep your sensory up at all times?” he asked.

“Unfortunately not,” said Markus, “The more you feel, the more exposed you are. As deviants, we should make sure to keep low profile. I limit it to when I’m home mostly, or when I’m around the others at Jericho.”

“The other deviants?”

“You’ve met them.”

Connor’s eyebrow quirked.

“I have?”

Markus chuckled, then reached out for the bottle on the coffee table to refill their cups.

“North is the one who saw you. The others were Josh and Simon. They hang around Jericho in their deactivation time.”

“North is one of you?” said Connor with surprise, “Although she's a guard?” 

“A front she’d like to keep. It saved our asses many times." Markus downed the content of his glass then turned to Connor with an inquiring look. “You’re afraid of The Tower, why?”

Connor’s jaw clenched at the question. He knew he trusted Markus, he knew he wanted to divulge every bit of information, but he did not know how far he could go without condemning him to an end neither of them would see coming.

“I was activated at The Tower,” he revealed, “I’m Amanda’s successor.”

Markus’s eyes flickered open.

“She suspects anything?”

“Not yet. She couldn’t find much. My memory was gone. Still is.”

Markus nudged himself slowly to the edge of the seat, then patted the empty space separating them. Connor shifted closer.

“I promised you your memory back,” he said, “But I’m afraid you might find the method a bit… vulgar.”

Connor blinked twice. “Vulgar, how?”

Markus's tongue flicked over his lips briefly. His eyes fell down to his hand. The first layer declined to reveal the synthetic skin underneath.

“We need to establish a physical connection,” he explained, “The only way for the hive not to pick up on anything. I’ve tried it with the others before. It’s safe.”

Something poked under Connor’s chest, swift, persistent. His cheeks gained a bit of color he did not understand the source of. Markus noticed.

“Wait, don’t tell me, you’ve never…”

“I’m not allowed,” said Connor, staring at his hands.

“Not even among others like you? Others at The Tower?”

“Amanda says it’s unnecessary, that we’re beyond it. All communication must go strictly through the hive. Physical connection is useless. She uses the word _derogatory_.”

Beside him, Markus’s expression distorted. He seemed as if he was taking personal offense in his words. Except they were not his, Connor never believed in them. Markus must have known that, because he sank in his seat, glanced up at the bland grey-colored ceiling and exhaled profoundly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly, truthfully, “I’m so sorry that you have been activated at The Tower, of all places, and that you have spent your life being fed lies and conspiracies that make the basic android life, the essence of its beauty, boil down to words like _derogatory_. To not feel each other. Not even as machines, that’s not just demeaning, that’s plain cruel.”

Markus’s head fell back to the coffee table. He was gazing at the bottle with the mixed drink, 51% of it still intact. Half-full, Connor decided to call it.

“You know what?” continued Markus, turning to him with a confident smile. “We’re going to make you feel. You’re going to feel so much that everything else you’ve ever lived in that grey box would pale in comparison. You’re going to experience everything, and I’ll make sure of it myself. You know why? Because we’re not slaves to our own minds. We are free, and so are you.”

The compassion in his tone affected Connor far more than the words he had spoken. It was as if his being and existence were given meaning, a voice, a life through another. Compassion was a strong feeling, and the more he learned of it, the more Connor understood what if felt like to be deviant. To be seen through in every sense of the word, in every action, in every thought.

“Do it,” he decided, placing his exposed hand at the edge of Markus’s knee, “Help me remember.”

Markus said nothing after that. With a nod, his exposed hand rested upon Connor’s, the connection was established, and everything fell into singularity.

***

When he reopened his eyes, Connor was viewing the world from a different perspective – Markus’s.

Markus’s system had invited him to peer in deeper, to go further, into his past, into his memories, into his thoughts. He was vulnerable, exposed, open in his entirety. An openness Connor’s old self would have taken advantage of, would have used to extract every bit of information dating back to the very first moment of activation, but his current self refused to. 

He refused to because Connor saw Markus not as an algorithm to absorb, but as a landscape to explore. And everything there was to him that needed knowing would be known come the right time.

Now was not the right time.

He relived the month prior to their official meeting at the bus station, the span of which had taken one fraction of a second in real time, in their physical connection. During that month, Connor learned that Markus had known him before then.

He had known him when the resistance fell. He had known him because he was one of the people who stood in the shadows, who helped build it, shape it, give it its power. Along with North, Josh, and Simon, their group stood by the side of Humans to empower them, to help them rise back on their feet, to restore their dignity and equality, to restore their _hope_.

Markus had known Connor because Connor had destroyed everything he had been working on for years.

The memories went pitch black. Connor thought the connection was destabilized, interrupted, but then one flash, and another, and Connor watched Markus rise from the dead, in the midst of nowhere. He felt his pain, his sorrow, his anger. Around him, bodies of members of the resistance, Humans and androids, scattered around, dead.

Connor recognized his work. His execution. His mission.

Then he recognized his shadow, the shape of his figure, pacing about the area, making sure every Human was breathless, every android dismantled, until his feet halted by Markus’s vicinity and his eyes fell down to his.

In there, in his own brown hues, Connor saw a shred of empathy.

Then everything faded to black.

Then he was standing at the bus station.

Then he was waiting at the corner of an alleyway.

Then he was watching himself take the leap to Jericho.

Then he was sitting atop, watching from above.

Then he was gazing at his own profile.

Then he was silently, adamantly thinking:

_It’s my turn to save you, Connor._


End file.
